POA ch003 — Henry Orders Takeaway

Summary: Henry returns home to his housemates.

Author's Notes: Hello, new friends! The author thanks you for reading. Henry, the protagonist, thanks you for (please, god, please) choosing wisely.

Content Warnings: Minor scopophobia.

Henry is on his phone pulling up Deliveroo to place a take-away order the minute his feet cross the threshold of the hospital. He scrolls through the options and finally settles on a pizza from the Rickety Press, a pizza place not too far from his house.

Then he registers the date on his phone.

April 18, 2024.

He had his initial survey on April 16, 2024.

The next thing he registers are his notifications.

30 unread messages from Ash Garner.

3 unread messages from Naomi Grace.

92 missed calls from Ash Garner.

1 voicemail from Naomi Grace.

He’d been so focused on ordering up a large four-cheese, he hadn’t even noticed these notifications. Henry feels a quick spike of guilt — really, calling Ash should’ve been the first thing he thought of, rather than pizza. They must be worried sick about him.

But Henry isn’t far from home, and might as well check and see if Ash is there, first.

…

The handle of the front door has barely turned before Henry finds himself under attack.

“Ack!” Henry yelps as Ash fully octopus’s themself around Henry’s torso. Ash has a full head of height on Henry, a large, soft form, and regularly goes to the gym. It should, therefore, come as no surprise that upon this reception, Henry staggers sideways and has to brace himself on the doorframe to keep from falling over.

“I’m sorry!” Ash apologizes immediately, though whether for sending Henry into an unexpectedly intense neuro study or for nearly knocking him over upon his return remains unclear. “Are you still recovering? What did they do to you? I don’t — I knew it might be a little more involved than the studies you’ve enrolled in before, but I never thought—”

“Ash—”

“—And then Naomi said even she couldn’t reach you, and they wouldn’t allow either of us into Pembroke Lab—”

”Ash—”

“Oh, god, and now I’m totally squashing you, aren’t I? Sorry, sorry.”

Ash releases their hold, and Henry can breathe again.

“Henry’s back? Oh, thank fuck.” Naomi comes down the stairs and pulls Henry into her arms for a far more gentle hug. With a single squeeze, she pulls back, grasps him by the shoulders, and examines him with the critical eye of a physicist faced with inexplicable data.

“You look normal,” she concludes.

“Thank you?”

“I’m putting the kettle on.” Naomi turns and steps into the kitchen.

The house Naomi, Ash, and Henry share is a modest little place tucked in a corner of Jericho. They were lucky enough to get a place with three bedrooms, a tiny kitchen, and just enough space to shove a couch and coffee table in the remaining corner.

Ash’s eyes rake over Henry’s face, now that Naomi is busy preparing tea.

“Sorry I wasn’t able to respond to your texts,” Henry says.

“Oh,” Ash chuckles. “Yeah. Um. Sorry about calling you… however many times.”

“Ninety-two.”

“Right. That’s— that’s gotta be some kind of record.” Ash laughs, and a hand goes to the nape of their neck, an embarrassed pink across their cheeks.

“Honestly,” Henry said. “I was more worried when I saw Naomi had left me a voicemail.”

Ash’s eyes widened. “Naomi picked up the phone and called you? Dude, that’s how you know you did something bad.”

“Glad to know my continued existence means something to you.”

Ash’s smile suddenly looks pasted-on.

“’Course it does.” Something flutters in Henry’s chest. Ash continues. “I was— I was real worried about you.”

“I’m sorry I worried you,” Henry rolls his eyes. “It was all consensual, at least, as far as I remember…”

“What?”

“But I didn’t realize they’d keep me there overnight.”

Ash chews their bottom lip. “Me neither. Obviously, given that I called you, like, a hundred times—”

They cut themself off, and their eyes move from Henry’s face to hover just behind his ear.

They blink, briefly surprised, attention caught by something behind him.

The look in their eyes sends gooseflesh crawling up Henry’s arms.

“What?” Henry asks. “Did they give me a surprise ear piercing, too?”

“No, I—” Ash shakes themself, hand going to worry at their own dangly earrings. “Nothing. I— I don’t know what that was.”

Henry laughs away the shivers. “You know, I’ve been getting that a lot recently. Maybe I need a new haircut.”

”Maybe your shadow is acting up, like in Peter Pan.”

”We all know Henry is more Tinkerbell,” Naomi replies, carrying a tea tray with a pot, three mugs, and a small jug of oat milk.

The three friends collapse onto the too-small couch, knees bumping. Henry ends up sandwiched protectively between Naomi’s sharp elbows and Ash’s soft chest.

“So, our intrepid guinea pig,” Ash announces, putting on a silly voice as Naomi pours the tea, “do tell us how they poked and prodded you.”

“Well,” Henry begins, wondering where to start when he can barely remember any of it. “I’ll be honest, I don’t remember all that much. I think they didn’t really tell me much of what the study was about, but when I went in on Tuesday they had me do all kinds of questionnaires and stuff. I can’t— I can’t remember what kinds of questions they asked, and I had to sign an entire forest’s worth of consent forms.”

Ash frowns. Naomi raises an intrigued eyebrow.

“Is that to be expected?” She asks. “The memory loss?”

“I think so,” Henry replies. “Seonjae, the lab tech I spoke to, said some folks experienced ‘some disorientation.’”

“Alright. Well, keep me and Ash updated, in case we need to drag you back there.”

“I have a follow-up appointment tomorrow,” Henry says. “So I’m sure it’ll all be fine.”

Ash is still frowning, fiddling with the handle of their mug. “Why don’t you tell us everything that you do remember?”

…

“…and then,” Henry finishes. “Seonjae tells me she has one more question to ask me.” Ash’s eyebrows climbed higher and higher into their fluffy fringe the longer Henry spoke. Naomi is simply staring, spellbound by Henry’s account.

“She asks me whether I want to have leftovers for dinner tonight or take-away. I mean? How can that possibly be a relevant question?”

Naomi snorts. “Well, you do hate figuring out what to eat each night. Don’t you always complain that you can’t decide whether to go out or stay in, and what to order, or what to cook…”

“Hey,” Henry complains defensively.

“The number of times I’ve had to help you decide by flipping a coin…” Naomi sighs, as though this is the most difficult of hardships.

“That’s just because my thumb won’t do the flippy thing! You can’t blame me for having shit thumbs!”

“Skill issue.”

“Ash,” Henry whines playfully, turning to face them. “Naomi is bullying me again.”

Ash hums. Their face has that pinched look it always does when they’re off in Neuroscience Land. “It is… odd. I mean, I’ve never quite heard of that being the question that is asked. Usually, if we were trying to test your cognitive skills, or your recall, things like that, we’d ask you about something you did in the past, something you might be expected to remember, and confirm it with a caregiver. Asking about something you’re going to do in the future…”

“Huh,” Henry says. “Yeah, I mean, maybe because I didn’t have anyone with me?”

“Maybe they asked you before they put you under,” Naomi suggests. “And they wanted to see if your response was the same?”

“Or they’ll ask me tomorrow, and see if I remember,” Henry agrees. “That sounds plausible.”

“Yeah…” Ash says, still unconvinced. “No, that— it must be something like that.”

“So, did you make a decision?” Naomi asks. “About dinner?”

“Oh, yeah, I mean, I had to, didn’t I?”

“That would be a first for you,” Ash agrees, solemnly.

“Hey!” Henry sputters. “Et tu, Ash? I’m not that indecisive. Am I?”

Naomi and Ash sip their tea. Loudly.

“Well,” Henry says, puffing up primly. “I’ll have you know I chose to get take-away. Ordered Rickety Press. Should be delivered soon, actually. Which is ideal; I’m starved.”

“Oh, really?” Ash says. “Sweet. Can I have a slice?”

Ash grins down at him. How is Henry supposed to resist, when Ash is using all of their fluffy-haired gamer wiles on him?

“Fine,” Henry acquiesces.

“Can I have one?” Naomi asks.

“Um…”

“Just kidding. You always order four-cheese, which I maintain is entirely too many types of cheese. The textures… ugh. Plus, there’s leftover falafel from lunch waiting for me in the fridge.”

Ash and Henry laugh.

Everything is normal.

…

Henry’s bladder is what finally breaks up their little catch-up session. Once the conversation turns to Naomi complaining about her supervisor (yet again), Henry makes a short escape to the bathroom. He takes a calming breath and pulls out his phone. He skims the messages from Ash and Naomi, and deletes the missed calls. Then he finishes and goes to wash his hands.

It’s fine. He’s fine. Everything’s normal.

A thought occurs to him. Should he be writing this all down? Keeping a record for… for whatever research Dr. Pembroke and Seonjae are performing? He hadn’t been instructed to do so.

Henry glances into the mirror. He looks… just as he did. A few red pimples across his forehead, stubble on his jaw. Had he simply been unconscious for 48 hours? He so desperately wants to know what happened. Maybe, when the trial is over, they’ll have security footage or something that he can watch.

Henry stares into his own eyes, looking for any sign that he’s been… affected.

His eyes meet his reflection’s, and then flick up around his head.

Same tousled hair, same hazel eyes. Only—

“Wait.” Henry startles. “Is that—?”

Poll

Image Descr.: A screenshot of a poll at the bottom of a Patreon post, with two options. Option One — It's me. Option Two — It's us. Initializing... Polling... thirteen percent, It's me. Eighty-seven percent, It's us. It's us

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Points of Articulation is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution NonCommercial ShareAlike 4.0 International License. It is written and created by Hannah Semmelhack, with beta-reading by Fiona Clare.